


Soldier, Poet, King

by the_space_ace



Series: King and Lionheart [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: DadSchlatt, Domestic Fluff, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, I think?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_space_ace/pseuds/the_space_ace
Summary: Schlatt tells Tubbo a story.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: King and Lionheart [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063421
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Soldier, Poet, King

Tubbo was only four when he was first told the story.

It was late at night and Tubbo couldn’t fall asleep, fear keeping him awake. His father had tried everything that usually worked; he’d given Tubbo his favorite tea and hummed the only lullaby he knew. It did nothing to alleviate the state of alarm Tubbo was in, barely affecting the shakiness to his shoulders and his shallow breathing.

Tubbo was bundled in his favorite blankets and surrounded by the only stuffed animals that comforted him. The familiarity was doing something, but it definitely wasn’t improving Tubbo’s mood.

His father was sitting next to him, struggling to stay on the too-small bed. His hand was combing through Tubbo’s hair. It was easy for Tubbo to hear the panicked and worried beating of his heart with his head pressed against his father’s chest. Usually, hearing the strong heartbeat would calm him, but with its current erratic pattern it only succeeded in making things just the smallest bit worse.

“Can you tell me a story?” Tubbo asked. His question was almost unheard, his volume just below that of a whisper. It was a wonder that his father even heard it at all.

The fingers delicately moving through his hair froze for a just a moment, followed by a small and inquisitive hum from his father.

“What kind?” His father asked, easily matching Tubbo’s volume. The small, barely there rumble of his chest as he spoke was enough to take Tubbo’s mind off the unsteadily beating heart beneath him and he subconsciously cuddled closer to his father.

“Any.”

“I don’t know if I have any interesting ones, bumble bee.”

Tubbo snuggled into his father even closer, chasing the warmth that always radiated off him. “I don’t care.”

It was silent for a minute or two and all Tubbo could do was focus on the rise and fall of his father’s chest. He knew his father was thinking of something to tell him, at least he hoped he was. Tubbo wasn’t quite sure how to tell him that all he really wanted was to hear him speak, to listen to that familiar cadence of his voice.

“It starts with a soldier,” his father began, louder than before and his tone more confident, “He’s young and impossibly strong, one of the best warriors of the land! Wherever he goes, he holds an impeccably crafted diamond sword. Just the sight of him and his sword is enough to stun a whole village into an awed silence because they knew, by the red of his cape and the gold of his crown, that he could destroy them all in seconds. But being that mighty could be very lonely, Tubs. The soldier had no friends, abandoned by the family he knew and scorned by the strangers he didn’t.”

“Dad, what does scorned mean?”

“Hated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s sad.”

His father chuckled and Tubbo smiled. The more his father talked, the more regulated his heart rate became. Really, just knowing that his father was calming down was enough to relax Tubbo as well.

“The soldier didn’t really like being alone even if he pretended he did. He wanted someone to talk to who would see him as more than just his conquests and his victories. Sometimes he considered getting rid of his sword and his cape and his crown. He dreamt of running off and becoming a simple farmer. But his duty to the innocent people of his country kept him from leaving.

“The soldier ended up meeting a poet. The poet was good with his words, able to string together lies and the most convincing tall tales. Unlike the soldier, he was unknown. Not many knew of his name or his deeds. He was as lonely as the soldier, but his loneliness was his own fault. He chased away anyone who ever cared for him, weaponizing the words he was so fond of in an inescapable and self-destructive downhill spiral.”

Tubbo knew his fear had faded, the unshakable feeling of something being wrong chased away. It was hard to be scared when the silence that had been making everything worse was gone, covered up by the comforting voice of his father.

There was something different about this story and the ones his father would read to him from the colorful picture books that could be bought in town. This one felt more personal in ways Tubbo couldn’t really explain.

“The soldier met the poet when he was hurt. He’d gotten into a bit of a tough fight and was left with a few cuts and wounds. The poet stumbled upon his hastily built camp and offered to help patch him up. The soldier didn’t want to trust this stranger, but he was losing blood and he had no idea how to properly bandage himself. He had no choice but to put his life and tentative trust in the poet.

“When the soldier was all fixed up, the poet still hung around. He made excuses and explanations for why he hadn’t left. The poet didn’t tell the soldier that he was lonely and that the scarred man was the first person who didn’t hate any of the harsh, abrupt words that fell from his mouth. The soldier never told the poet to leave, enjoying the company much more than he’d care to admit.

“It was just the soldier and poet for a while, wandering the lands together. But then they met a king. A king who wasn’t a fan of the royal aspects of his life, pushing away the gold and the responsibilities that were forced upon him. He abandoned the castle and the title to discover his own life and to find his own destiny. The king took up different hobbies, finding love in music. Music was able to occupy the king’s mind and take away from the loneliness that came with his secrecy.”

Tubbo could feel the fatigue creeping up on him. The effects of pushing away his sleep in the name of fear were finally catching up to him. Keeping his eyes open was becoming more of a chore, his body protesting as he fought to stay awake. The haze that he associated with sleep crept at the edges of his mind.

“The king met the poet first or, well, the poet met the king. The king was playing his music to a nonexistent crowd, content with only himself. The poet heard his music and approached him, complimenting his music. They talked for a bit and became fast friends, getting along well for just a couple of strangers.

“The soldier met the king later and they both recognized each other. They’d met before, when the king was the king and the soldier was solitary. The king was afraid the soldier would rat him out and force him back to the castle but, to his surprise, he didn’t. The soldier was kind to the king, inviting him to come along with him and the poet on their journeys. It was a decision the king made without any thinking for he knew he couldn’t say no to such an opportunity.

“The three of them became almost inseparable, close in ways they never expected to be. They found a rare friendship in each other. None of them wanted to go back to the life they used to know. They refused to even consider separating, wishing to stay together and continue their many adventures.”

Schlatt looked down to see his little bumble bee fast asleep, face thankfully no longer showing the signs of fear or worry. He was glad the story worked, although he was a little surprised that it managed to do better than all his usual tricks. 

He’d never mention to Tubbo the truth that inspired the story. Never would he tell his son of the real people behind it all, the ones who went through a heavily watered down version of the tale he’d told.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to have two other parts (one where techno tells tubbo a story and wilbur tells him one as well) but i couldn't figure out how to write the rest so here we are
> 
> ive got dadschlatt brainrot


End file.
